


Check Mate, Valdo Marx

by jaskiersvalley (connorssock)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Kaer Morhen, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier, Non-human Valdo Marx, lute-off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23228026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/jaskiersvalley
Summary: The sanctuary of Kaer Morhen was broken so much sooner than Geralt had hoped. He had a sorceress and three other witchers on his side to fight the whole army of Nilfgaard. All while a bard hid out in the pantry with his child surprise and a dagger in hand with instructions to use it when their last defence had fallen. Except, Jaskier was going to have none of that. He had won this round fair, Valdo was just a sore loser.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 460





	Check Mate, Valdo Marx

No matter how fast they travelled, Nilfgaard nipped at their heels. Geralt had sent word ahead, all but begging the other witchers to meet him back at Kaer Morhen, to help him. He had no idea who would heed the call. The keep loomed up ahead and he pushed Roach on. Ciri was drooping on top of her, exhausted from weeks on end of being on the move. Not that the adults were faring any better. Even Yennefer looked ragged, Jaskier on the other side had gone silent a while back.

While they had a goal, a safe haven in mind, they didn’t have much of a plan for what happened when they got there. Hopefully someone else could take charge because they were too exhausted to focus beyond surviving.

Against all hopes, they made it. Kaer Morhen’s gates clanged shut behind them and three witchers were coming to greet them with grave concern etched on their faces. They had heard whispers of the Nilfgaardian army advancing, hunting down the Lion Cub of Cintra and that she was being protected by a sorceress and a mutant. It never occurred to them that it was Geralt who was caught up in the mess. But they were safe, for now, they could rest. And once they were a little less rundown, they could plan, train, figure out what to do next.

Rest was not a luxury they were afforded. Two days later, as dawn broke, the whole keep shuddered under the impact of something thudding into it. It was a mad scramble, four witchers, a sorceress, a bard and a child, all running to meet in the heart of Kaer Morhen, the kitchen. It rapidly became obvious that this was it, a final stand.

“Bard, take the little one, hide in the pantry. We’ll whistle your tune to let you know it’s safe.” As Geralt hugged Ciri to reassure her, Vesemir pushed a dagger into Jaskier’s palm with a knowing look. It wasn’t a case of ‘if’ but rather a ‘when’ hope was lost. For a moment Jaskier stared at the dagger, lips down turned and aghast. But the next moment it was whisked away, up a sleeve and he turned to Ciri with a kind smile.

“Come, princess, we have a pantry to raid. I am fairly certain I saw some cake in there last night. And fresh bread.” His hand trailed over Geralt’s shoulder as he passed, a final touch, a silent goodbye.

There were five of them left in the kitchen and they all shared a knowing look. This was it. The Wolf School’s last stand. They grabbed their weapons silently. There was too much to say for such a short time as the whole building shuddered again as it was rammed. Though there was also nothing to say, they all knew it all anyway.

The doors opened under Yennefer’s spell and they marched out, a line of five against the hoards of Nilfgaard. But they weren’t going to go down without a fight, the wolves would protect their den until the very end.

The air was thick with anticipation, the army was waiting for the command to attack, winning by sheer numbers rather than skill. Because while four witchers and a sorceress were a formidable foe, even they couldn’t hold off a whole army. This wasn’t going to be a battle, it was going to be a slaughter.

Defensive, the five held position, waiting for the attack. There was a crispness to the air, as though spring had arrived to witness the massacre. The army shifted uncomfortably and the witchers were twitchy as well. Around them, the ground was sprouting flowers and vines which were reaching for the raised swords and tethering feet to the ground too.

“Enough.” The voice was unmistakable, clear and rang with an unearthly quality. Jaskier pushed through the line of witchers and stood, lute in hand in front, facing down the army. “E-fucking-nough!”

Nobody moved, flowers bloomed and turned to face Jaskier. “If my brother wants a fight, he will come face me.”

Something dark was approaching and Geralt looked at the others who seemed just as puzzled. But they didn’t relax. Whatever was coming, it was big, probably beyond them all. And they had a dumb bard antagonising it.

“Hebe,” Valdo Marx sneered as he pushed to the front of the army. The flowers around him wilted and shrivelled.

“Ares,” Jaskier replied coolly. “What’s the meaning of this? I won. The princess is in the keep.”

Things were making less and less sense. Yennefer mouthed “Hebe?” while Vesemir was tasting the name “Ares” on his lips silently. The God of War and the Goddess of Mercy and Forgiveness. Siblings. But all they could see were two bards staring at each other like two very pissed off and territorial cats.

A breeze picked up and the more they watched, the more something about the two bards seemed off. Like a mirage that could be seen through with a squint.

“I won,” Jaskier repeated again. The flowers and vines were more aggressive now, pulling swords down, wrapping around the trebuchet, stilling the rock and smothering out the fire around it. “We move onto the next game.”

“No.” Valdo bared his teeth and strummed his lute, the air was once again charged with the promise of death and violence.

Slowly, the bards started circling, Vlado picking out a jagged, jarring rhythm of clashing chords in direct contrast to Jaskier’s usual mellow, cheery melodies. They were staring each other down, their eyes flashing, Jaskier’s an otherworldly blue while Valdo’s were red. Their pace picked up, the flowers bloomed and wilted as they passed, round and round, never getting closer.

Smoke and sparks flew from Valdo’s lute and he growled, teeth bared. A soft hum filled the air and grew. It should have been unbearable, heavy and forcing everyone to their knees with hands clutching their ears. Instead, it filled them, vibrated through bodies, settled into bones.

All of a sudden, Valdo’s lute burst into flames and crumbled to ash by his feet and he gave a feral cry as flowers blossomed all over, vines climbed shoulders and caressed tired cheeks.

“I win. Again.” Jaskier declared, his back to his witchers and sorceress once more. “And I demand my prize.”

“Fine.” Valdo threw his hands up with a frustrated grumbled and stepped aside.

In the soft sunshine, birds sang, there was an influx of insects buzzing over the new flowers. It was a peace Kaer Morhen hadn’t enjoyed in decades, if not centuries. Everyone was rooted to the spot, couldn’t move, even if they had wanted to. They were waiting on Jaskier whose all too blue eyes scanned the Nilfgaardian army. After a silent minute, he smiled and pointed.

“You’ll do.” Newest piece chosen for the next game, Jaskier crooked his finger. “Come join me, Cahir.”

Everyone watched as a lone figure tripped as unwilling feet carried him over to Jaskier, joined his line. Another piece in a game of gods, exchanged and bartered in arbitrary battles and victories. A sibling rivalry where pawns were lives. Where one favoured numbers while the other relied on skill. This was a game to them, a battle of wits. And, as one game finished, another started. While Jaskier had the princess, the next round was just starting.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr - @jaskiersvalley


End file.
